


pick me up a new life (month one)

by Hanaasbananas



Series: Going Through The Motions [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, from 1x08, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-18 00:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20630093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanaasbananas/pseuds/Hanaasbananas
Summary: (She will gladly smother herself for eternity in his name. It will be worth it, just to know he still draws breath; is still free to walk the streets of Paris unharmed.)Constance comes to terms with her sacrifice.





	pick me up a new life (month one)

Constance has always hated silence. Growing up with three older brothers had meant that she hardly knew the meaning of the word.

Until now.

(For a short while, when the Musketeers had followed D’Artagnan into her house and filled it with the sound of boisterous laughter, tramping boots and the scrape of their scabbards against her walls, she was reminded of _home__—_even if the Musketeers took more care than her brothers ever did to censor their filthy jokes.)

It takes much longer now to reacquaint herself with the quiet tedium of being a draper’s wife, now that she knows what adventures live just outside her doors, but Constance won’t complain. Not the way she did when she first married and saw the years of this life stretching out ahead of her like an eternity.

On particularly bad days, she curses him. It was true- her life with Bonacieux had never been unhappy. It hadn’t been anything. But there was a comforting rhythm, a rigidity to the life she had carved out in her little corner of Paris. Perhaps she bemoaned the absence of love, but Bonacieux was good to her—if a little distant— so how could she miss what she’d never had?

And then a handsome Gascon farm boy had fallen at her feet, effortlessly upending all she’d worked for and dragging her into the life of love and adventure and _vitality_ she’d given up as a girlish dream.

What would have happened, she wonders, if she had ignored his declaration of love, had simply accepted his attempt to cover up his words? Or if she left him at the fishmongers? Never let him become a lodger? Would she have been happier in her ignorance, allowing the monotony of her life to wipe the memory of the day she nursed a reckless boy back to health?

But no. Knowing what would happen— the heartbreak, the love, the tears—she would always choose to do it again. How could she not, when he had looked at her like she hung the moon, like she was something beautiful to behold and cherish? Even if she never sees him again the memory of those few short weeks would sustain her, folded deep inside her heart where his love can soothe the festering wound she has inflicted on herself.

(She will gladly smother herself for eternity in his name. It will be worth it, just to know he still draws breath; is still free to walk the streets of Paris unharmed.)

And really, Bonacieux is a kind man, Constance reminds herself each morning. He is a kind man who did not turn her out—as he had every right to do— like the adulteress she is. She tries to remember that, as she suffocates in the silence that has descended upon her house; but this is her penance, and she will pay it.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was originally part of a long one shot spanning six months, but I've been working on this for ages but haven't finished yet, so I wanted to post them anyway to see what kind of feedback I'd get. There will be six works in this collection and I'll post the second one today as well and the others after that will be posted weekly as I edit.


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